The Penny Loafers
by The Days that Never Cease
Summary: Big man Bruce has slowly been losing himself to the city's poison. With little hope left for himself, or anyone else for that matter, he questions his place in life. Enter lanky Tony. He holds the power to teach hope again, but will he, too, fall prey to his personal demons? Or will Bruce be able to save his young friend? Bruce's P.O.V. AU
1. Chapter 1: Remembrance

**Disclaimer: You know it. I know it. Lawyers know it. I own nothing. **

Chapter 1: Remembrance

They didn't always hate me.

When I first came to the city, they saw me as their last beacon of hope, even with the ugly scars disfiguring half of my face. I was a symbol amid their hopeless poverty. I was the breathing, flesh-and-blood embodiment of the success for which they so desperately strived.

I was the ticket to freedom. I was the way out of a life reduced to scavenging piles of decaying garbage to survive. I saw their pain and empathized. God knows I wanted to help them, that I really tried to. My life's ambition: doomed to ultimately fail.

Huh. Looking back now, I can't figure out why they didn't hate me then. They should have known that I would ruin their lives. They should have told me to leave the moment I first stepped into this living hell. But they didn't.

We were all fools.

We believed that we could elevate this filthy city into a higher realm. We thought that our wills would be enough. And look where we are.

I don't blame them for hating me. I only blame them for feeding their hatred the wrong reason. I didn't kill that kid.

I suppose I should explain.

When I entered the city, I came as the kind, benevolent doctor, the Samaritan that everyone celebrates. I treated their illnesses and their wounds and even their emotional woes. I had all my supplies neatly organized. What can I say? It was my last shred of sanity in this crazy reality. Sometimes I hardly believed that it was real.

Anyways, for several months, I lived in relative contentment. I did my good work and fed my precious ego; thank goodness, it's left me now. And then the drug lords took notice.

Really, I should have known that it was coming. I was a threat to their business. With me around for hope, their most valuable commodity was no longer needed. And so they took action.

One night they sent three of their men to raid my stores and to frighten me into submission. I take it they forgot just how massive I am. But there was a boy among them. He was the one who did their bidding.

When I heard the commotion and saw him snatching my medicine, my temper exploded. Without thinking, I snapped his neck like the twig he was. Why didn't I stop myself? I knew who he was, a local boy, a beloved son, a patient of mine at one point. Why did I let my anger overwhelm my good sense? To this day, I still don't know the answer.

After that night, they never looked at me the same way. They stopped seeking my care. They called me monster whenever I dared to peak my head out onto the street. In many ways, I suppose I am. I worsened their condition.

They turned back to the drug lords, who welcomed them with higher rates and crueler deals. Why, why, _why? _Why didn't they still fight? Why did I remain in this uncontrollable nightmare? The city sucked the last of the tender heart in me and replaced it with permanent festering anger.

Monster. That is what I have become. I even have the scars to prove it.

It has been a long night. The blaring alarm clock beside my head agrees. When I smash it with my enormous fist, I remember my place and the sins I have yet to repay. Sighing, I lift myself from the dirt floor and stare at the broken components. Maybe Alfred will have another one in by now. Guess it won't hurt to check.

I gather what little I can trade and step into the dawn's grey light.


	2. Chapter 2: Alfred the Trader

**Let's see how this one goes.**

**Disclaimer: You know it. I know it. Lawyers know it. I own nothing.**

Chapter 2: Alfred the Trader

Alfred's a character. He's also an outsider like me, though at least he isn't constantly peppered with vegetable entrails. Ah well, it's nourishment…kinda.

His makeshift stand and subsequent junk piles are only a short distance from my 'home', so I'm usually able to slink along within the shadows of the abandoned structures flanking the dirt street. Which I do. Most of the time. When I'm in a foul mood, I like to walk in broad daylight, daring them to just try to cross me. They still do. Looks like I haven't learned my lesson. Doubt I ever will.

Today is one of those days when I can walk holding my head high. Not because I'm in a bad mood but because no one is awake at this unlawful hour. Except Alfred. He knows to expect my business in the early moments of dawn.

And there he is. I walk within viewing distance to find him wearing that ridiculous paper hat (seriously, why would anyone be willing to put a bent cone on his head? There's no way that's fashion) and his same ol' eye-blistering grin. I don't know why he doesn't get it patented. It's a powerful weapon. With the correct intentions and the right direction, that grin would be perfect for blinding an entire army. Or some ragtag gang.

"What a fine morning to be out for a stroll, stranger!" he calls to me. I pause and sniff the air. Well, I suppose that the rancid stench of human wastes mixed with the fumes of bloated animal corpses has abated. At least for a while. Or maybe I've stumbled onto some fairy patch of violets and honeysuckles that has been left to wither in the dust.

I almost slap the notion from my head. The stench is getting to me. Yeah, that's the reason.

Alfred dims his grin a bit as I approach. He also attempts to leap out from behind his stand to embrace my "lovely guns" as he calls them. Note 'attempts'. When Alfred makes his leap, he gets caught on the front end of his wobbly stand and sends both limbs and bathrobe sprawling into the dirt before my feet. Like I said earlier, Alfed's a character.

"Need a hand, Alfred?" I ask. With a shake of his over-cheerful head, he rises and dusts off his hole-ridden robe. I swear that even if he was being eaten alive, he'd still be grinning through the whole process. And blinding the unsuspecting.

"It's all good." Then he glances over his shoulder at what once was his stand. It's a pitiful sight. His smile falls immediately, and he begins to resemble a kicked puppy. "I suppose I should be more careful."

"Don't worry. I'll help you rebuild." Alfred waves my generous words away as if they were a pesky fly buzzing in his ear.

"Your presence is bad for business." Ok, I'll admit it: that stung. Not even noticing my adverse reaction, Alfred brightens as his mind lines up several deals within his head. "Whatcha got for me, Big Man?"

I silently produce several pages of an old newspaper from my pocket. Snatching them from my hand, Alfred checks the date and nods his approval. "Not bad reading material. Haven't seen any from this decade in a long while. What do you want for it?"

"An alarm clock."

"Another one?!" His incredulous expression doesn't fade even when I nod. "You gotta stop breaking them, Big Man; you're draining my supply!"

"Who else would even waste the effort to buy one of your crappy clocks?" I retort.

"You'd be surprised." Cradling the newspaper, Alfred disappears behind the one of his enormous piles. "Take a look around! You might find something that you'll like!" Though I unleash a scornful snort, I decide to take his advice and observe his junk.

That scoundrel has every kind of thingamabob and doohickey known to man. Rusted coils, halves of springs, shattered glass, broken disks, nuts and bolts of every size, useless tires, toasters with their insides open to the harsh world, and just _shit _that I don't even know how to describe abound. Although, I admit with a gleam in my eye, some of the pieces do appear worthy of further analysis. And that is how I meet Tony: by scouring and dissecting Alfred's garbage.


	3. Chapter 3: The Unstoppable Force

**Oodles and noodles of fun this story is proving to be!**

**Disclaimer: You know it. I know it. Lawyers know it. I own nothing. Though, I feel like I should have claimed Alfred last chapter. Ah well, I claim him now!**

Chapter 3: The Unstoppable Force that is Tony Stark

When I feel a heavy gaze boring into my skull, I look up. Directly above my head two muddy orbs meet mine. I blink. They blink. I blink again, and this time only one flutters shut before disappearing. Was that a..._wink?_

More than a little bemused, I pull back from the garbage only to bump into something, or someone, behind me. I jump. My head collides with what feels like bone. I hear muttered cursing coming from my side, the object having shifted after my startled hop. So it is a person. I turn cautiously to look at whoever my surprise is.

It's a boy.

A _really _tall boy at that, because he must be at least a head higher than me, and I'm no stump of a body. My muscles aren't the only reason that I'm called Big Man. But what this boy has achieved in height, he lacks in mass. Even the thick overcoat that dwarfs and smothers his thin frame can't hide that obvious fact. Hell, he's practically a walking stick…just like…

'Don't go there, Bruce,' I warn myself. 'You won't like it.' I return my focus to the lanky boy and judge him to be about fifteen, give or take a year or two. A mess of thick brown hair crowns his head. I am fascinated by it.

It looks like the best one can do to it is stick a brush in it and call it Rapunzel. I wonder how his mother tames it. "Y'know, it's not polite to stare," he comments, breaking my reverie, "especially at a stranger. Even one as handsome as me." The boy massages his chin.

"I believe you were the culprit first," I say mildly before stopping short. Wait, did he just call himself…? The boy's face splits into a wide grin, and at that point, I'm convinced that he's related to Alfred.

"What's your name, mister?" Unsettled by his feral look, I answer, with appropriate caution,

"Banner."

"That's only his last name," comes a singsong voice. Alfred has returned. I am thankful to see my new (well, as new as anything can get around here) alarm clock in his hands. Perhaps I can make a quick escape. "His first name's Bruce."

"Brucy!" the boy exclaims, yet it's more akin to a high-pitched squeal. Now I'm in trouble.

"I didn't think you knew my name, Alfred. You always refer to me as Big Man," I chide him as I wonder what can possibly result from this exchange. The trader shrugs.

"Big Man suits you better than Bruce. Although, I will say Brucy is just perfect." He makes no attempt to hide his boisterous snickers, and the boy merely grins with that face-splitting grin again. I sigh.

"Just give me my damn alarm clock."

"Not so fast, Greedy Grubby Hands!" exclaims Alfred, pulling out of my reach. "Let me make sure it works first. I refuse to put my reputation as a brilliant, reliable trader on the line just so that you can save your tough-guy image."

"He's got you there, Brucy."

"All right, kid. Then what's your name?" I ask as Alfred waltzes off to complete his check.

"I'll have you know that I'm no kid." I raise an eyebrow. "Ok, ok, so maybe I am. But I'm definitely not your average genius kid. I am the sole heir to the Stark Empire!" he declares, puffing out his chest. My caterpillar eyebrow doesn't move a millimeter.

Deflating, the youngster flails his arms around. "Haven't you heard of the Stark Empire? And its fortune!?" I begin to notice a nervous twitch. I shake my head slowly, worried that even the slightest provocation will make him burst into a cloud of hot air. "Why, the Stark Empire encompasses the entire city! My family owns every breath you breathe!"

Now I'm sorely tempted to inquire what exactly he's on. I am not, however, curious in the least bit to know where I can obtain some. God knows what I'd do if he responds with a drug lord's address. My spare-time research isn't that vital for my survival. My sanity will just have to suffer.

The boy, perceiving the depth of my disbelief, fumbles with his coat pocket. Then he hands me a flimsy rectangle of paper. "Here," he says, almost breathless. I'm beginning to think that I should be worried about him. "This is my card. It has my name and everything on it."

I flip it over and read it in silence. When I finally return it to him, I remark wryly, "That's an interesting way to spell Tony. I can't say I've ever seen the y be replaced with a heart-dotted i." Furrowing his brows, the boy reads the card. My inner imp shrieks with delight as his face flushes a peculiar shade of red, somewhere between tomato and grape. Revenge is sweet.

"T-t-this one is for the ladies!" he manages to splutter. I snigger. The nervous twitch becomes more pronounced as irritation contorts his feature. "Well, what do you propose I do? We can't all be muscle-heads!"

I freeze as he wraps his bony hands about my biceps. "Flex," he orders. When my response is a blank stare, he repeats his order. I oblige him. His appreciative murmurs fuel my discomfort when he moves to my calves. This kid is weird, I decide. "Wow, your muscles must fetch you a good number of pretty legs. What are you on? Steroids?"

Images of that night flash through my mind. My arm flies from my side before I can stop it. The boy struggles for air as I lift him by his neck so that his feet no longer touch the ground. "Well, _Tony_," I spit, "what do you think? Am I just another dumbass sheep following a drug lord shepherd so that I can get a daily high?"

"That's…not what I…meant…to say," he wheezes. The beast in me refuses to listen. As I'm about to squeeze the last of life from his puny body, a sharp click in my ear returns me to reality.

"Drop the kid, Banner." I twist my head to see Alfred pointing a gun at my temple. His smile has vanished. In its place is a no-nonsense frown that threatens severe consequences if I go through with my actions. And there's my clock in his palm.

With equal amounts of horror and relief, I relinquish my hold on the scrawny neck. Tony floats to the ground. He begins to rub the areas where I know imprints of my fingers will form. "Damn, Brucy," he says. "Here I was thinking that your head-."

"Shut up, Tony," snaps Alfred. Though a smile has manifested, it is hard and dangerous. "Now, Banner, I'm going to give you two options, so listen closely. Option Numero Uno: You can take your precious alarm clock and vacate my premises at once. I don't want to see any sign of you around here for two weeks. Understand?" I grunt to acknowledge him.

"Option Numero Dos and this one is my favorite: You can create more trouble for my lovely customers. I'll paint the streets with your brains. How does that sound?"

"Singularly unpleasant. I'll take the first option." Alfred tosses me the clock and waves his gun in the direction of my home.

"Before you go, Brucy," says Tony, getting to his feet, "I have to ask you a question of great importance. It may determine the future of all mankind." I look to Alfred, and he nods.

"Well…what is it?"

"Do you have a penny?" I throw him a puzzled glance, and he returns it heatedly. "Well, do you?"

"I suppose I may have one somewhere at home…"

"When you find it, can I have it?"

"Kid, you are seven different kinds of crazy."

"All right, enough chitchat," Alfred intervenes, effectively ending all conversation. "Move along, Big Man. I've got high rollers coming to my stand today." Alfred and his forgiveness. Both characters. Rolling my eyes, I offer the trader a mock salute as I turn on my heel.

"See you around, Brucy!" I hear Tony's youthful voice echo after me, and I marvel that he doesn't detest my every fiber. My impish side stirs.

"Whatever you say, _Toni_," I call, making sure to draw a simple heart with my index fingers. Picturing his indignation, I throw my head back and laugh. At least I'll have some semi-pleasant memories to keep me company in the long weeks ahead. With that I square my shoulders and return to my dismal abode.

Let them do their worst.


	4. Chapter 4: 7 Kinds of Crazy

**I would like to thank the anonymous reviewer (I'm still surprised that you thought of Bruce Wayne) and jack2724 for giving this story its first reviews. You really made my day! :D Now on to the disclaimer…**

**Disclaimer: You know it. I know it. Lawyers know it. I own nothing.**

Chapter 4: Seven Kinds of Crazy

It has been two weeks before I see Tony again. Strictly adhering to Alfred's new, temporary rule, I avoid his stand during that time. Be it cowardice or not, I sense that I possess some innate fear of guns, especially when they are held by a madman. People on the other hand…

Them I'm not so afraid of.

I endure their scorn and ridicule and flying vegetation for fourteen days. Alfred wasn't going to supply me. I had to get my daily nutrition from somewhere. Though, I wish it hadn't been at the expense of my pride.

I also suspect that some of those vegetables may have been designed to give me dysentery. That would explain the indigestion. They've gotten a bit more creative in their attempts to drive me away over the years. Still, I pity them.

They should know as well as I do that this city has devoured me. Just like anyone else who breathes its toxic airs. This heinous city exhausts every last reserve of humanity. It will be our murdered, our coroner, our grave digger, our pallbearer, our vicar, and our tomb.

It's these thoughts that haunt me as I make my way to Alfred's stand. My alarm clock croaked.

I notice that neither he nor his goofy hat is there to greet me. I also notice a faded sign resting upon his stand. It reads 'C-OSE-'. Unless someone made a half-hearted attempt to butcher 'cozy', I'm fairly comfortable in assuming that it means to convey 'closed'. Looks like my vision survives to see another day.

Cursing my bad luck (or, perhaps, I should dropping to my grateful knees to thank the heavens), I almost leave. After all, when Alfred disappears, who knows when he'll return? Then a faint shuffling sound reaches my ear.

Twisting to my left, I observe a decent section of the pile shift. That's odd. Most know better than to hang around Alfred's stand before or after his business hours. Even without the worn sign. If Alfred's presence can't be felt within a 10-ft. radius, then that means he's closed. And closed means closed. Anything else is regarded as robbery or vandalism.

I shiver as I remember the gleam of his gun's barrel. There's no doubt in my mind that he's itching to pull the trigger and become this city's Jackson Pollock **(1)**. Scary thought.

Curiosity roused, I lean so as to catch a glimpse of the perpetrator. I nearly tip over in my shock. Actually…I do because it's not every day that I find a gangly teen merrily sitting cross-legged in what could only be considered a trash nest. Tony.

My instincts scream for me to flee. Yet my monstrous will glue my feet to the ground. Maybe Tony won't be like the others.

I remember the distinct. nagging feeling that I had two weeks ago: the one that suggested him being on some sort of drug, possibly an anti-depressant. On, and the one that thinks he's just plain weird. Both grow stronger at the sight.

When I recover from my fall, it becomes apparent that the hunched teen is intent on whatever has captured his interest. His hands fly in every direction. The nervous twitch is gone, replaced by an adrenaline-induced, yet anxious enthusiasm.

So engrossed in his activity is Tony that I doubt that he noticed my rapid descent onto the trash. Even when my enormous fist crushed the unlucky aluminum cans in its path. Here's to hoping that Alfred doesn't notice. Or if he does, I'll cross my fingers and hope that I won't be banned again.

I don't care much for dysentery.

Though I still feel the apprehension that he may despise me, I casually clear my throat. "So…what are you working on?"

"Can't you addled-brain idiots read?!" he snaps. "The sign says closed. And it's incredibly rude to interrupt someone when he's working on a grand innovation that may be our savior and usher in a new era." His eyes never once glance up.

I suppress a half-smile. "Then I leave you to our salvation, kid." The last word breaks his focus. Tony's head snaps up so swiftly that I'm surprised he doesn't suffer whiplash. He stares at me, openmouthed.

For a long while, it remains that way: I standing awkwardly with my hands cradling my alarm clock and he sitting frozen and slack-jawed. Perturbed by his unblinking stare, I decide that he doesn't want me around. I wave two weak fingers and prepare to slink home. Guess Tony's just like them.

Yet once I turn my back, he chokes out, "B-B-Brucy!" I glance over my shoulder to find him scrambling to escape his nest, and then I fully swing around.

"Don't hurt yourself, kid!" Tony ignores my command and launches his scrawny frame over the trash walls. I wince as his face connects with the earth.

Before the doctor in me can even begin to form a list of what needs to be done, he's on his feet. "Brucy, you came back for me!" His affable smirk eases the last of my doubts.

"Why wouldn't I?" A shadow crosses his easygoing expression, and I see lines of fatigue creasing his grimy skin.

"Oh, I don't know," he says, shrugging. "Some people are just inclined to run." I know he doesn't see the guilt that I'm sure swims within my eyes because he's studying the ground.

"Well…it sounds to me like you've been hanging around Alfred too long," I try a lighter tone, "but you've only known him for a couple of weeks." That does the trick.

Tony's shoulders begin to shake with suppressed mirth. He presses his fist to his mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the river of noises dying to escape. Fat tears roll down his cheeks.

"May I ask what you find to be so amusing?" I inquire. I give him time to regain his composure.

"It's just that…Alfred and I go waaayyyy back," he finally says, motioning with his hand for emphasis. "I've known him since I was a tyke. I've been coming to his stand at least once a week for as long as I can remember." His words surprise me.

"But I've been doing business with him for six years now!" I exclaim. "I'm sure that I would've remembered seeing you."

"Two weeks ago was my first glimpse of you. My guess is that Alfred tried to keep me from meeting you and your awesome massiveness. He and J-man have always been kinda overprotective." Tony tilts his head. I see the faint brownish reminders of the damage I inflicted.

Tony observes my reaction thoughtfully. "So you're the guilt-trip type, huh, Brucy?"

"No, I'm the monstrous type," I whisper, bowing my head in repentance.

"Don't let anyone ever call you that," I hear a hard voice hiss. The boy's body is stiff when I raise my eyes. His fists are clenched. "You. Are. Not. A. Monster. I said something to set you off. That was my bad."

"You couldn't have known-."

"Bullshit, I should have!" The pure self-loathing is distressing to hear in one so young. "It's my fault for not paying attention to the world around me all those years. I went out onto the streets, Bruce. I've heard what they say about you."

I squeeze my eyes shut, dreading his answer even as I utter the low words. "Do you know why they say those things?" He nods. "Then you're a fool, kid."

"I know better; I'm a super genius ladies- man with this awesome new friend that is probably the world's most celebrated hero-!" I have to stop him.

"I almost didn't come back, Tony." The gush of adoration abruptly ceases, and he frowns. I await his hatred.

"But you did. And that's all that matters now." He turns toward his nest of garbage, and I shake my head at him.

"You're too forgiving." He pauses for so brief a second that I almost believe to have imagined it. Then he clambers into his nest.

"By the way, Brucy, do you have that I penny I asked for?" I could hit myself.

"Sorry, kid, I forgot it at home."

"Well, I guess I can wait." I shake my head again, though this time I'm irritated at my memory. It must be going bad.

"What do you need it for, anyways? Pennies are worthless." I receive a noncommittal shrug as an answer. Married to his work again, Tony appears to tune out the world and me along with it. I find a seat among the trash.

Over the years I've learned to recognize a long wait at its onset. Besides, it's not like I can leave Tony all alone. His words still prick at my mind. Wonder what his childhood was like.

After what I approximate to be half an hour, Tony peers over his wall at me. "I know I'm not the most exciting company; why are you still here?"

"I'm waiting for Alfred," I half-lie. He gestures for me to elaborate, and I show him my alarm clock.

"I'll take a look at it."

"You know how these work?" He snorts.

"It's not like I'm building an old nuclear power plant. Anyone with a decent amount of observational and problem-solving skills and the right materials could fix this." I hand him the clock so that he can pry it open and inspect it. "This doesn't look too bad."

Then he snaps his fingers. "Here's what we can do! While I'm busy working my magic, you can go fetch that penny for me? How does that sound?"

"I suppose that's doable…"

"Then get moving! Time is too short for us to be wasting it." He waves me off, and although I'm affronted, I have no choice but to comply.

As I tread the shadows, I hear metal being torn from its proper place and thrown against other parts behind me. I resist the urge to look back. The mad genius immersed in his scheme is not an entirely comforting mental image. I almost expect Tony to be strapping my poor alarm clock to an operating table. Though I may often lament this wretched city's lack of sterility, this time I can only be grateful.

My shack of a home greets me within minutes. I pause to note the alarming sunken quality of my roof. Another thing to do some other day. Another visit to Alfred's within the near future. Sighing, I push the door open and enter the single dimly lit room.

Most days I find the lack of square footage to be to my advantage. I anticipate as much today, but oh no. Murphy decides to apply his law.

The tininess of my space means that the few things I do possess, usually trading items or reading material, tend to get stacked to maximize availability. And that's where I choose to look first. Brilliant thinking, Bruce. Your perspicacity is simply unrivaled, even with Tony in the running.

I manage to knock over _every _stack. So now my floor is blanketed by paper and useless trinkets. Great. I don't think I have the time to sort and restack each item properly, so I leave it alone.

Then I almost rip my hair out trying to find a penny in all the mess. Of course, when I do locate one, I have to find it several companions. Just in case. I think Tony may be the bane of my existence.

Yet I cannot deny the relief I feel when I see him pounding away at the innards of my clock. It's good to bask in his cheerful presence. As I drop the aged penny before him, he jumps.

"You're back early." His tone is not quite accusatory, but my natural defense mechanism kicks in despite that.

"I don't live far from here. Were you not paying attention the day Alfred sent me home?"

"I didn't expect you to be so close. Most of his customers live a good distance from here." Tony scratches his with the tip of his…I'm guessing that it's okay to call it a tool. Then he claps his hands excitedly. "Can I see where you live?"

"Maybe some other time." Before he can begin to whine, I fix my hardest stare upon him, though he meets it with a challenging smirk. He still caves first.

To pass the time as he fixes (destroys) my clock, Tony tells me of his family. "You should really meet my girl Pepper. She's one fine piece of work. With one hellava temper." He grins goofily. "It's a good thing I'm one of her favorite people, or else I'd probably be dead by now. She's also got quite the protective streak."

I recall the bruises on his neck and frown. "I don't think she'd like me very much." Tony raises a quizzical eyebrow, and I gesture to the affected area.

"You've got to stop worrying about that. She doesn't even know."

"But…if you two are so close, how-?"

"You know who would definitely like you?" he asks, bulldozing over my question. "The J-man. He's a really chill dude, even after raising me all those years. He's more of a brother. Especially to Pepper. Anyone who needs taking care of, he does so without complaint." My mouth twitches.

"Are you saying that I need a caretaker?"

"Nah, you've got enough smarts to take care of yourself without much issue. He'd still like you, though.

"And why is that?" Tony grins, and I know a smart answer is fast approaching.

"Just call it a gut feeling. We Starks are famous for it." I roll my eyes as he tosses my alarm clock. "That should do the trick."

I place my ear to it, listening to its internal tick-tock rhythm. "Not bad, kid. What do I owe you for it?"

"How about another penny the next time you come to visit me?" Taking this as a sign of my dismissal, I nod my head.

"Will do, Tony. Will do."

* * *

**(1) Famous drip-painter. Very abstract.**

**Eh, I'm not too crazy about the end of this. Any thoughts?**


	5. Chapter 5: What I Come to Learn

**Well, here's the next bit. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I also apologize for the wait.**

**Disclaimer: You know it. I know it. Lawyers know it. I own nothing.**

Chapter 5: What I Come to Learn

One month.

That's how long it's been since Tony repaired my alarm clock. I have to admit. He did a good job of reviving it. Now I easily rise before the crack of dawn without fear of sleeping through its first weak rays that struggle to penetrate the thick air.

Huh. It took me this long to notice. The smog's getting worse. I don't how it can be possible because there are no factories or cars to pollute the air. They were all destroyed years ago.

One month.

In that time I have become a faithful patron of Alfred's. Most of my worn reading material now helps to fuel his business, or so he says. I frequent his stand at least once a day. Sometimes I find Tony, sometimes the trader, sometimes both, sometimes neither. Alfred couldn't be happier with the increased trade, even if he does still say that my presence threatens to ruin him. That's where Tony comes in.

That kid's got a nerve of steel if I ever saw one. When I first increased my visits, Alfred would always be bothering me by either teasing me about my 'hulkish' size or lamenting his ruined business. As it turns out, Tony isn't too fond of anyone speaking ill of me. And although the trader sulked for a while, he cheered up when I gave him half of a novel without asking for anything in return.

Now Alfred and I are better friends. Well, sort of. I know he keeps one wary eye glued to my temper the same way I keep one eye on his gun. Yep, Alfred's got a protective streak. Can't say that I blame him, though.

Tony's the kind of kid that I can't help but feel the need to protect no matter the cost. And this is how he regards me. I know this because he once made an offhand comment on the subject while walking the city with me. He didn't catch himself. Otherwise he would have denied it the moment the words flew out of his mouth.

Even so, to realize that it has become second-nature to Tony gives me reason to hope. Maybe this city has a future after all.

But Tony being the only true friend I've had since I came to this place isn't the only reason I need to protect him. It has to do with that nervous twitch.

Whenever he's not throwing himself into a heated discussion on the beauty of technology or throwing himself into his projects, he's…jumpy. Like he doesn't know how to deal with our reality. (I like to think that his twitch is less prominent when I'm around. Alfred's inclined to disagree.)

Tony always covers his anxiety with witty comebacks and sharp words, but I can tell that he's lost. When he finishes his work, he just sits there staring at his empty hands. It's disturbing in its forlornness. Whenever the air thickens, Tony acts like it chokes him. Almost as if his last breaths are stolen from his lungs.

I worry about him.

One month.

The city shifts ever so slightly towards a grimmer horizon. It's barely perceptible, but we can feel it. Everyone does. Tony's especially sensitive to it. He hangs around Alfred's stand more often than usual, but little by little, he's slowed his work. The gangly teen just gazes at the sky.

Maybe he sees something we can't. And it's killing him.

I know that the kid is strong; it simply isn't possible for the weak to survive here. He may even be the strongest of us all when it comes to defending against external forces. But I don't know about internal.

He's struggling with something.

Damn it all, I want to help, not just because of the old doctor in me or because I consider myself to be a good friend. I want to help as someone who knows what it's like to have demons. I want to _save _Tony.

Perhaps that's my ego rearing its ugly head again, but so what? The kid has to have gone through hell.

I once broached the subject to Alfred. He froze in his actions before yielding to a weary, defeated sigh. "That's something you'll have to ask Tony yourself."

"The kid will never talk to me. Or anyone for that matter. Maybe in his younger years he might have been more open, but not anymore."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"It is if it kills him," I replied as anger simmered within my veins. That bastard trader actually had the audacity to snort his laughter, though, looking back, it was bitter and hollow amusement.

"Give him more credit than that, Banner." The dropping and replacing of Big Man spoke of his gravity.

"I refuse to overestimate Tony. I was a doctor, Alfred; I know when someone's stretching there limits."

"Well, if you're such a high and might expert on the subject, then you should be able to prescribe a cure for all our woes," he snapped. "You should know that we're all testing our limits. It's this God-forsaken harlot of a city."

"There's nothing I can-."

"Oh, I realize that as much as you realize that this city poisons us." I sensed his growing agitation and refrained from pressing my point.

"One soul is all I ask to save. I can't do that if I'm not able to understand where he's coming from," I murmured. The trader shook his head at me.

"Big Man, you cause me all kinds of trouble," Alfred said. "Listen now and listen well. I will only say what I know once." And so he told me a little of Tony's history within the city.

I learned that Tony did in fact come from a wealthy family known as Stark and that they did at one point own most of the city's blocks. They had built it from nothing but sweat and sacrifice.

Looking around at the derelict shell now, I can only think that their sweat and sacrifice went to waste.

Apparently, Tony's father had wanted to create an experimental environment for his inventions. Most of his innovations had been for the benefit of humanity. But then came the weapons.

From what I understand the government contracted him to create better weaponry so as to better their defense. One day a test went horribly wrong. Whatever weapon it had been, it was powerful enough to wipe out most of the city's population, taking Tony's mother along with it. Tony had been extremely young during the event.

Traumatized by his tragic loss, Tony's father left everything behind and vanished into obscurity and memory. His life's work, his ruined city, and his son. Without the head of the Stark family to keep the city in line, it was overrun with riffraff and scoundrels. At least here they had a decent chance of survival.

Alfred had come with the masses and set up his stand in little time. He had taken to the streets within hours to find suitable materials to trade and ended up finding young Tony Stark instead. I guess the kid managed to keep himself alive somehow. The trader mentioned that the family's butler, Jarvis, had cared for the child as much as possible. Unfortunately, the butler was of advanced years by then.

Alfred took the boy under his wing. I suppose he recognized Tony's potential as an inventor and so increased his trade and took on commissions. The trader is definitely not a fatherly figure, but a mentor suits him well.

The information frightens me. Perhaps I can understand from where Tony's fear of abandonment stems, but I know myself well enough to acknowledge there's little I can do for him.

As if perceiving my thoughts, Alfred orders me to use the information to the best of my ability. He didn't tell me it for nothing.

Although I find his interference rude, it is the push I need. I tell him that I will find Tony immediately.

* * *

**Anyone have questions so far?**


	6. Chapter 6: Our Salvation

**I anticipate the end to arrive within the next few chapters.**

**Disclaimer: You know it. I know it. Lawyers know it. I own nothing.**

Chapter 6: Our Salvation

I don't find Tony as quickly as I had vowed.

I had checked all the usual places where I thought he might be to no avail. That led me to roaming the city for hours. The streets were the worst.

I think everyone who had reason to detest me was out on the streets today. I would walk into a packed area, and the crowd would fall silent. No vicious insults, no loose tongues, no mother's scorn. Just silence. They didn't even bother to hurl rotten produce at me. But they would stare.

I can still feel their hateful gazes burning holes into my flesh and adding scars to my collection. My hand unconsciously reaches to touch my mutilated face. As it traces my numerous marks, I think of how many pairs of eyes it takes to break a man.

Not many.

After my fruitless search yielded only disappointment, I retreated into my shack for the remainder of the afternoon. I collapsed onto my meager pile of blankets in the far corner. Dust flew into the air. I studied the paths of a million particles as evening passed.

The sun has set now.

A chill settles over me, awakening my tired mind and renewing my resolve. Tony's still out there. I will make good on my promise.

Although my bones crack noisily and painfully, I am refreshed. The night is young, and I will make the most of it. Before I exit my filthy little shack, I remember the pile of pennies I had collected into a small bag. I grab it, the paper crinkling in my fist.

As I walk into the open air, I notice the scent and taste of moisture attached to it. Rain. I don't have time to deal with it tonight.

Setting off at a brisk pace, I follow my instinct. When my brain fails me, something else will take its place. My instinct leads me to jog two miles from the city to the area where I first made my entrance. I ignore the wave of raw memories. Focused only on the appearance of the land, I find it much easier to bear the experience.

It's funny.

I hadn't once left the city since my arrival, but I recognize every detail and see that it remains the same. The land has gone untouched. Lips twisting into an ironic smile, I jog father into the countryside.

Amid the rolling hills, I find Tony kneeling and tracing a path of dirt with his finger. I call to him. He doesn't seem to hear me, so I walk and crouch beside him, surprised by his intent expression. I see blurred lines in the dirt. "Working again?"

"Always, Brucy," he answers, narrowing his eyes at his drawing.

"On what, exactly?"

"Our salvation." He leans back on his heels to show me his idea's entirety. It's too dark for me to see clearly, and I tell him so.

With an unanticipated amount of patience, Tony guides me through his mind's working so that I may understand it the way he does. Needless to say, I'm impressed. He explains to me his idea for newer, cleaner energy with such clarity that I can almost see it rising from the dust.

I suppose it's the old adage: 'Like father, like son'.

"I want to change the world!" exclaims Tony with feverish excitement, the one that replaces his nervous twitch. "Or at least this city. I want to give you, Pepper, J-man, and Alfred the life you all deserve. Not wasted years. Not a promise of a decrepit grave."

Privately, I think I'm getting exactly what I deserve for my sins, but I smile anyways. It's a nice sentiment.

Tony's idea continues to grow. Larger and larger, I see his plan unfolding over the city the way that he imagines it. A new, safe plant built somewhere in these lonely hills, powering his industry and skyscrapers. Each block illuminated by dazzling bulbs the moment night sweeps the streets. No more darkness. No more pollution.

His reactor will somehow eliminate the worst of what already dirties the air. The rest will fade with time. Tony hopes to hear less of racking coughs. "Too many people have already died," he whispers. "I hate it."

With the disappearance of hazy fumes, Tony thinks that we will be able to glimpse the stars again. "I miss their shine. Will you look for them with me, Brucy?"

"Do you mean tonight?" His eager, pleading gaze gives me my answer.

"I don't think we'll be able to find any, Tony," I say, gesturing to the sky. "It's going to rain soon." Just as the words escape my mouth, a flash of lightning splits the night's tranquility wide open. The telltale boom resonates shortly afterwards, creeping across the empty land.

"The storm is not the reason," says Tony as he extends his arm. I follow his pointing finger, and with the next bright flash I glimpse smoke billowing from the city. I am thoroughly confused.

Though I open my mouth to question the kid, he turns away from me and lies beside his sketch. "Let's just find some stars." I don't have the heart to tell him how little I care for the celestial bodies. Giving in to the fact that I won't receive a straight answer, I join him.

Together we wait for the storm to approach.

Tony is without his massive overcoat for protection, and I only wear my usual greasy T-shirt. I suppose a soak in relatively clean water won't be so bad. Realizing my own rancidity, I decide to welcome the chance for a free bath with open arms. Tony remains silent.

Eventually, I dare to ask, "Why do you want to look for stars?" It's some time before I receive a reply. I hear,

"I don't know." Then, "Do you have a penny?" I toss the bag to him, and the sound of it being ripped open reaches my ears.

"You do realize that those are useless, right, kid?"

"Some things are worth more than they appear. I'm not giving up on these pennies. They may build my future empire; hell, Brucy, I'm counting on them to." As the conversation lapses again, I mull over his words.

Yet when I think I have grasped the full depth of their meaning, Tony is incapable of either confirming or denying my thoughts. I glance over to find him sound asleep. Poor kid. He never truly loses all the tension wound in his thin frame as shown by frown twisted onto his face.

The storm is coming onto us quickly. Neither of us is dressed for a long night spent in cold rain, so I gather him in my arms. Cradling him like he's made of glass, I manage a smooth run to my shack. The worst of the downpour is beginning as I tuck Tony into a makeshift nest of blankets. As I listen to the slap of rain against my sunken roof, I, too, drift into slumber.


	7. Chapter 7: Sobriety

**On with the story!**

**Disclaimer: You know it. I know it. Lawyers know it. I own nothing. **

Chapter 7: Sobriety

I awake with a jerk. The scent of previous rain greets me, and the morning air chills the sweat sheathing my body. Though I grope for a blanket, the thin fabric evades me.

Slightly puzzled, I force my mind from the lingering grip of sleep and into reality. I sweep my gaze over the contents of the single room. Everything appears to be in place. Hell, it hardly looks as if anyone has been occupying this shack. Particularly my pile of blankets.

They have been folded into neat, undisturbed squares in the corner. Like I said, it looks as though… Wait. Why are my blankets over there while I'm over here…? I drag myself from my cramped position beside my door, and I stumble towards the corner. I'm intent on solving this mystery.

I lift each square one by one but find nothing to indicate who might have built the stack. Scratching my head, I check the surrounding area for any clue. There!

Behind the folds I discover a ball of wrinkled paper, probably the result of a careless or hurried toss. Narrowing my eyes, I realize the wad consists of the flyleaf of one of my novels. Well, that was rude of my 'guest'.

I take it outside to find the best source of light and then smooth it against the ground. My eyes scan it.

_Dear Brucy,_

I pause to mentally slap myself. How could I forget that Tony had spent the night? Unless I imagined it. Ducking my head inside my door, I look for the bag of pennies only to find it gone.

So I really did bring the kid home. Add one point to the Big Man's brilliancy.

But that means that all his ideas of creating a new world do exist. That my nightmare of crushing his hope before he can begin… That could happen.

Blood draining from my face, I smooth the paper again, though this time with quivering hands, and continue to read.

_Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for letting me wait out the storm with you. Although, it really wasn't necessary. I would've found a way to stay dry. Still, it was generous of you._

_You looked like you needed the sleep when I woke up, so I chose not to bother you. Hope you don't mind. You also seemed to have a fever, but you're the doctor. Not me. I thought the blankets might be too hot for you. Enjoy my little surprise when you finally wrest yourself from the fiery grips of doom!_

_I find that two !'s create a more dramatic effect than one. _

_I apologize for any inconvenience that I may have caused you. I don't think it will happen again. Cross your fingers._

_Your salvation,_

_Tony_

_P.S. Thanks for giving me an idea of what I want for breakfast! I'm gonna go find some blueberries. Happy scavenging to me!_

I reread the note as I run my hand through my curls. That kid. I fight a grin as I marvel at his weirdness and his sincerity. I would've been more than happy to fix us both breakfast; I think he should know that by now.

The urge to grin morphs into gentle sorrow. Even with knowing a little of his past, I see just how far away I am from beginning to understand the complex that is Tony Stark.

I ponder ideas on how to better my understanding as I amble towards Alfred's stand. Panic sets in as I near it. Far from ready to either confront or ask Tony my questions, I almost turn back. Then I perceive only the trader in his bathrobe and conical hat.

Odd. Where could the kid have gotten off to? Perhaps he's still scavenging for his blueberry breakfast, which is the most practical reason for his absence. Yet sharp doubt bites within me.

Alfred blearily blinks at me before rubbing the crust from his sleepy eyes. He yawns a garbled greeting. I return it in mild amusement, resting my elbows on the rickety stand. "Rough night?" I inquire.

"Like you wouldn't believe, Big Man," he says in mid-yawn. "That was one firecracker of a storm."

"I slept through it." Dumbfounded, the trader shakes his head and wags his finger.

"And so the wicked inherit all the cruel world's blessings!" he cries, feigning a dramatic swoon. I chuckle.

"It would appear that way. Of course, that would mean putting the kid in the same category as me."

"Tony doesn't have enough muscle to compete with your lovely guns. Hold on, do you mean to say that he spent the night with you?" When I nod, Alfred frowns. "I thought he was with Jarvis and Pepper, where he belongs."

"I found him sitting in the country. Alfred, you wouldn't believe the scale of his ideas-."

"Oh, I'd believe it, Big Man. I've seen some of them for myself." Though his frown deepens, he shakes off the weight before I can question the reason for his grave expression. "I suppose it makes sense that Tony would stay with you. He trusts you."

He casts me a sidelong glance, and I know that he judges how I react to subtle flattery of the simple words. "I can't say why, but he does."

"Maybe it's my charisma," I say as I grin.

"Don't push it." The trader rubs his stubble-covered chin thoughtfully. "Tony spending the night with you does explain a lot. He did come from the direction of your home at some God-awful hour, raising more racket than I care for with some bag. It sounded like coins jangling."

"I gave him more pennies. No matter how many times I tell him that their useless, he still insists on requesting them. Says he's going to build his empire with them."

"You do realize that they aren't completely worthless, don't you?"

"They lost their value years ago, even with the outside government trying to boost it. At least, that's the way it was when I was growing up, way before I even stepped foot into this hellhole."

"Big Man, there's a lot you don't know. Some of the higher gangs have found a use for them. Not sure what it is. Might be for trading with outsiders and their gangs or for creating jewelry for their women. All I know is that they pay pretty for the stupid coinage."

I am curious of his hostile tone. "Do you know how much they will give for a penny?"

"More than I could ever afford."

"Be specific, Alfred." The trader rolls his eyes at me and massages his neck.

"Oh, I suppose all kinds of things. Chocolate, coffee, rare stuff."

"Then what can someone get for a whole bag of pennies?" Alfred throws his hands into the air.

"How the hell am I supposed to know? It's not like I'm part of their inner rings!"

"Alfred," I warn, dropping my voice. He takes the hint but cautions me that I will not like the answer. I obstinately implore him until he relents.

"Liquor."

That one word stuns me for but a second; I do not make the immediate connection. "I wasn't expecting that. However, I don't know why you would think that I wouldn't like your answer, unless you mean to imply that-." The words choke in my throat.

I don't notice Alfred scooting away until I regain my voice. But not my temper. "Alfred," I growl.

"Take it easy, Big Man," I hear his soothing voice penetrating my haze of rage. "It's not as bad as you think."

"What are you on that could possibly make you think that it's all right for Tony to have alcohol?!" The snarl rips through my chest, and I almost lunge for him.

"This isn't the first time, Banner." My temper cools from both his quiet words and the shiny gun thrust into my face.

"What do you mean?" My question emerges as another snarl, and Alfred frowns.

"Unless you can control yourself, I refuse to answer." I heave with effort as I struggle to comply, but though I do eventually regain some sense of tranquility, I am annoyed. The trader studies my countenance to see if I am calm enough. I raise an eyebrow.

"Well?" Alfred returns his gun to its proper place, relieved.

"I meant what I said, Banner. This isn't the first time that Tony has had alcohol, especially in large amounts."

"How long has this been happening?" He taps his finger against his chin as my anger starts to swirl within me.

"I'd say at least a few years."

"Why haven't you done anything to stop him?" Alfred doesn't miss the underlying accusation. What he does miss is the amount of raw fury behind it.

"I can only protect him somewhat from the outside world; I can't save him from himself. No one can. I doubt even you could reach him." The trader turns away from me, and therein lays his mistake.

I hurl his lean body into the trash surrounding his puny stand. That will keep him occupied.

My focus immediately shifts to locating the wayward kid. I can only pray that he doesn't act in haste or ignorance or stupidity or a drunken stupor. He may be a Stark, but he is still a kid.

When I do find Tony, he is lying prostrate against the wet street, and I at first think he has passed out. Two empty bottles lay beside him. I swear. The sound catches his attention, and he raises his head to stare at me. His eyes are glassy.

"'Ello there, Brucy dear!" he cries. He slurs his words so that I have difficulty in deciphering their meaning. "Have ya come to join the party?"

"Sorry, kid. Parties aren't really my thing." Tony pouts and props himself up on his elbows; I guess he got tired of tasting mud and soiled water.

"Bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-but WHY?!"

"Crowds and I don't mix well, Tony," I tell him, rubbing my ear. His whining sometimes turns to shrieking.

"You have to meet all de ladies!" He moves his arms to flail them and succeeds in only returning his face to the street.

"Perhaps another time." I attempt to both help him off of the street and encourage him to do it himself. "Come on, kid. Let's get you home."

"Nuh-uh!" he declares, flattening his body, and I sigh. "I'm not going back to Pepper and Jarvis."

"I actually meant to-."

"I haven't stayed with them in over a year!" I gaze down at the drunken boy, astonished, as he stretches for my helping hand.

"Well," I choose my words carefully, "we aren't going to see them. We'll go to my place instead."

"No! I don't want to be a burden!" Tony retracts his arm as if I had dealt him a blow.

"Kid, what has gotten into you? And what are you doing with this crap?" I nudge the bottles with the toe of my shoe, allowing brief disappointment to wash over me.

"I-I-I-I'm sorry!" he blubbers, meeting my expectant gaze with silence pleas. "Don't leave me!"

"I wasn't planning on it." Even with my assurance, Tony still breaks down, and then I'm at a loss. I never was good with tears.

Feeling my most awkward in years, I kneel beside him and pat his back in what I hope is a comforting manner. His muffled cries do not subside. Now I'm really at a loss. Thinking back to my younger years, I struggle to find a moment of my mother's relaxing techniques. When I do remember one, I shy from it.

Why me? It might just be my imagination or a trick of the light, but I swear that a cloud winks at me.

Crossing mental fingers, I hesitantly pull him up to wrap my arms about him. I rock him back and forth as I hum a throaty lullaby. I did not inherit my mother's voice.

But even with that working against me, Tony soon quiets and looks up at me. "Think you can walk?" I ask.

"Do I get a piggy back ride if I say no?" Grudgingly, I nod. Gleeful, the kid motions for me to release him so that he can clamber onto my back.

What a sight we must be as I jog down the street. Deformed monster with little of a conscience and a drunken, genius kid with possible player tendencies shouting, "WHEE!" all the way home.

Despite the oddity of it, it lightens my heart.

And then I remind myself of how I came to be in this situation in the first place. Tony has a lot of explaining to do when he sobers.


	8. Chapter 8: Of Devastating Demons

**This chapter had its…difficulties. Again, I must apologize for the wait as I add a warning for use of strong language. **

**Disclaimer: You know it. I know it. Lawyers know it. I own nothing.**

Chapter 8: Of Devastating Demons and Enterprise

Tony is no mood to answer my questions.

It took him a couple of hours to regain control of himself; most of it was spent napping by my door. I thought about moving him at one point. But I discovered an aggressive drunk behind his tipsy, carefree attitude on the way home. That poor couple got the tongue lashing of their lives, but it was, I'll admit, pretty entertaining. Then I decided I didn't want his anger direct at me.

At least not yet.

So here I am in my run-down shack with a cranky kid.

Thanks, Life. I really owe you one there.

When Tony first began to think coherently, he complained about a neck-ache. I told him that's what happens when you decide to collapse the second you enter someone's home without warning. He did not appreciate that. Sorry, kid, I don't live to please…not anymore.

Ok, fine. I'm still pissed at him for being an idiot. Doesn't he know that shit can kill him? That it destroys more than-?

I refuse to follow that train of thought.

I know where it goes.

I'm not sure if I would make it back.

Tony is attempting to be like them by trying to burn my flesh with his heated glare. It doesn't work. I'm not letting him leave without a fight.

I can tell that he's itching for one because when he _finally_ sobered, I saw him searching the ground around him. Looking for his bottles. Probably intending to smash one over my head when I wasn't looking. Good thing we left those bottles behind.

But now it's just him, me, and silence. It's beginning to grate on my nerves.

Once again, thanks, Life. You really know how to treat your puppets right.

I want to break the silence; really, I do. But I think Tony would snap my neck the moment I open my mouth. Or at least try.

Time to weigh my options.

Tony's wrath vs. who-knows-when-this-will-end silence. Bruised neck and possibly another dead kid vs. frayed nerves and also possibly another dead kid. Great options.

A bruised neck will heal faster than my nerves. But here's to hoping that Tony's wrath doesn't damage those nerves further, too; may God have mercy on everyone's soul if it does.

"Why'd you do it, kid?" I don't care how weary and defeated I sound anymore. I just want answers.

"Do what?" Tony's gaze is averted as he scoots away from me. There's that nervous twitch again.

I can already feel my temper being ignited again. Settle down, Big Man.

"Don't play dumb; it's not cute."

"I am a genius, Brucy!" he exclaims, appalled. "I would never do such a thing that would soil my reputation!"

"Then why did you do it?" Tony looks away again.

"I can't answer that."

All right, Tony, you had your chance to come clean. Guess we're going to do this the hard way.

"You better at least tell me why you wasted my hard-earned pennies."

"Oh, please," Tony snorts. "What makes you think I would waste my time on them? I wouldn't even bother to present them with that worthless crap for trade." Then, realizing his slight admission, he clamps his mouth shut.

"Who do you mean by them?" The kid only tightens his jaw. "I want answers, Tony."

"Since when did my life become part of your fucking business?" snaps Tony, hostility oozing from him.

"It became part of my 'fucking business' the day we became friends," I reply. I am still calm. 'I still have control,' I tell myself, but Tony's really pushing his luck.

"And what day was that? I don't remember ever calling you my friend."

"You sure as hell stood up for me like one." Then I mutter under my breath, "But that's about all you ever did." Across from me, Tony narrows his eyes.

"Come again." I raise my voice, my irritation beginning to reveal itself.

"I said, 'That's about all you ever did'. As a friend." I shake my head, all my frustrated thoughts crowding their way to the forefront of my mind. "You whine and you're needy, but you give anything decent in return. All I ever got was false hope."

"I never said that I was your savior."

"But you wanted to be our salvation. You planned on it!" A shaky chuckle escapes me, and it catches Tony off-guard. "Christ, that was your whole plan the entire time, wasn't it? To play a sick game? By giving me a dream that can't ever happen? The one that I had the damnable foolishness to believe in?"

"It was never like that-."

"Don't you _dare _lie to me again." He flinches at the venom in my voice, but I don't care.

I'm beyond giving a shit for him.

"I never lied to you, Brucy," he finally whispers. I am incredulous. Is this kid for real?

"That's bullshit, Tony, and you know that as well as I do." I run a hand through my curls. "You may not have outright lied, but you definitely meant to mislead me. Pepper and J-man…I thought you lived with them! But I bet you haven't stayed with them since you became an alcoholic."

"You've been talking with Alfred." It's a simple statement as flat and dull as his eyes.

"It's the only way I can figure you out. You won't tell me."

"Don't try to blame this on me. You never ask!"

"How the hell am I supposed to ask the person that always act like an arrogant little shit?!" I snarl. "You're not indestructible. You're just as mortal as the rest of us in this wretched city."

"Brucy, you've got no idea-."

"Then enlighten me." The kid glares at me for having interrupted him again, but like I said, I don't care. It would hurt too much at this point.

"I don't think that you would understand," he begins.

"There's no way for me to understand what I don't know," I counter. I fold my arms across my chest. The board is his now. Let him do whatever he wants with it.

"You never make things easy." I do not respond, but I raise a quizzical eyebrow. Tony's anxious eyes dart to the left and then to the right and then back again. Welcome back, Twitch.

"I can wait." He shoots me a sardonic smile to which I respond with a blank stare.

"How much did Alfred tell you?"

"Only about the alcohol."

"How much do you want to know about me?"

"All that you deem necessary for me to figure out why you're throwing your life away like this."

"I'm not throwing my life away!" he growls.

"Then what do you call it?" My accusing tone is getting to him, and his anxiety turns to fury.

"Enterprise." That one word shouldn't surprise me as much as it does, and Tony is somewhat gratified to have turned the tables. "I call it enterprise." When he receives no reaction for me, he slams his fist into my wall.

I jump.

"Damnit, Bruce, you have no fucking _clue _as to what I've been through. Yet here you are acting all high and mighty about everything you think you know about me. It means nothing." A choked sob bursts from him. "Can't you see that everything means NOTHING?!"

"Kid, take a deep breath," I begin. What if I pushed him too far?

"Don't tell me what to do!" he shrieks. "Just _listen_." He starts to pace the single room, agitation growing every moment. "You…you're a newcomer to this fucking hellhole. You didn't grow up here like me. You didn't ruin it like they did. You have no idea what it's like to live every single day of your damned existence only to know that it's for nothing. Absolutely _nothing_."

"Tony, I-." He glares at me again, and I shut up instantly.

"Every day I've had to live with the fact that my own dad, the one that was supposed to take care of me, just up and left me because I was too much to handle. I was a burden to him. And don't try to tell me that's not how it is. He told me himself." Tony chokes again and lowers his head, shoulders shaking.

Before I can even attempt to soothe him, the kid's back to his angry, slightly crazed self. I don't know how he manages the agitation.

He cracks another sardonic smile, but I can see through it to the swirling anguish. "Like father, like son, they said. Where did you think I got my taste for alcohol from? Definitely not Alfred. Trader's got no taste in decent spirits." Tony brings his fingers together as if he's holding a bottle and rocking it back and forth.

"That's the only memory I have of him. His drunkenness. My burden. Yet somehow I'm the burden that is abandoned in the end." His bitterness hurts. I feel a bit of it directed at me, and my resentment stirs because I don't know why. The fumes must be getting to me again. At least, that's what I hope.

"Don't you get it, Brucy? I am nothing to this shitty universe; it doesn't give a damn about me. But I give a damn about what's in it. That's why I can't go back to Pepper and J-man. I owe them so much more." Tony looks away and bites his lower lip.

I sense a half-truth. I may regret what I'm about to do, but it has to be done.

"Then what about Alfred? He took care of you, and you repay him by going out and getting drunk on some gang's alcohol." I deliberately harden my voice so that it sounds like disgust. Tony whirls on me.

"You have no RIGHT to tell me who I do and do not owe! Besides, Alfred's no saint. He's the reason I got mixed up in the gang's drug world in the first place." A smug smirk crosses his face as I am left dumbfounded.

"You mean…"

"Oh, yeah. Alfred's been selling me out to the gangs since the first time he saw me disassemble some old junk and then build it into something completely different. Called it potential." Tony thrusts his fist into my wall again, and the whole shack shakes.

Kid's got some strength in that bony frame, I'll give him that.

"Ain't that just the lamest shit you've ever heard?" he asks, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. "See a kid taking a break from struggling to survive for two people and suddenly it's _potential_? This whole place is fucked up."

His toe scuffs the dirt as he regains his focus. "Anyways, the gangs took a liking to me. Guess they saw the potential, too. They commissioned me to build all kinds of crap and left me being as dumb as I was with no clue as to what they really intended. But they did reward me for my work. Very nicely, I might add.

"For once I had more than enough to bring home to J-man every night. We didn't starve. We didn't even come close to going hungry. Not once. A couple years later we picked up Pepper, a few years younger than me and only skin and bones. We were family.

"But then the gangs caught wind of the fact that I was working for each other's enemies. I blame Alfred entirely for that. He should've known to hide my workings better, but he got lazy. So I had to make a choice.

"Naturally, I went with the gang that offered me the most. I've always had a bit of a sweet tooth. But immediately after that the others started targeting J-man and Pepper…" His voice trails off. He raises his eyes to the roof as if entreating anything above that will listen to give him strength.

"Tony," I speak softly so as not to disturb him. He shakes his head.

"I have to finish this." Swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, Tony mutters his next words. "With my own goddamn _weapons_. The ones that I had worked so I hard on."

"Kid-."

"Shut up, Bruce! There's no turning back now. Christ, and I was so damn _proud _of what I had made. Because it meant that J-man and Pepper got to eat. That they got to live. And I nearly killed them!"

"You know that it wasn't your fault that you didn't know."

"Don't _you _lie to me!" His voice almost becomes a shriek at the end, so I shut my mouth again. "I'm so fucking SICK of everyone's shit. I know good and well what I did and what it almost cost me. And I can't regret it. Because that would mean that everything I had done was wrong. Completely and utterly _wrong_."

"You did what you did with the right intentions," I say, trying to make him see reason.

"That doesn't change a damn thing. I screwed up, Bruce. Badly. That's all I've ever been my whole life: one big fuck-up." He stumbles against the wall that he punched and slides to the ground. Bringing his knees up to his chest and burying his face between them, Tony loses it.

Muffled sobs fill the silence.

And there's nothing I can do about it.

Sickened with myself for having pushed him to this, I press my fist against my forehead in an attempt to ease my raging headache. I realize that I need a distraction. "Tell me what happened next," I whisper. Tony looks up at me through his tears, and I shrug half-heartedly. "Like you said, no turning back now."

I give him time to dry his face. When he does, his eyes are flat and dull again. It bothers me.

"I left J-man and Pepper after that. I severed all ties with them so that I wouldn't have to put them through it again. And I also asked the gang I worked for to take the others out. I was surprised when they did. I was even more surprised when they didn't ask for payment; instead, they gave me my first drop of alcohol.

"That shit burned. But it gave me an artificial warmth that I so desperately needed to survive. I think the head of the gang knew that. So to keep me useful, he kept me sedated. Now here I am. Miserable and sober and nothing to show for it."

"Tony, you can't blame yourself for everything. Some of it was their fault. Actually, a lot of it was." He begins to shake his head again, and this time the shaky chuckles escape from him.

"You just don't get it, Bruce. I've ruined this city. Last night when you found me on the hill and I pointed to the smoke in the distance, you didn't understand. I built that. I reworked the old factories so that they now operate fully under gang control. One gang, one power. Enterprise."

"Will you stop calling it that?" I snap, disoriented by the news.

"It is what it is."

"But it's not that. I don't blame you for one second for what happened. It was out of your control. You can't beat yourself up over that for what you did not know." I pray that he listens to my silent exhortation.

"I just don't know anymore, Brucy," Tony finally says, sighing. "I just don't know."

"Then we'll figure it out. The same way I began to figure you out; through talking, yelling, and maybe a few punches here and there." At that he manages to crack a smile. We both lapse into silence again, too emotionally drained to decipher the sudden peace we've been granted.

Though after a while, my thoughts begin to get to me. "But there's still one thing that I don't understand. Why did you leave my shack? If it has to do with me being a target, I already am one. Been one for several years."

"What happened to you?" he asks, curiosity aroused.

"I was a doctor at one point, and I tried to help the people around here. Druglords didn't like it. Decided to raid my stores. I killed one of their men at the end of it all; actually, it was a local kid."

"I think I remember J-man wanting to take me to a doctor several years back," comments Tony, tapping his chin. "Must've been you."

"Maybe. Anyways, you still haven't answered my question." The kid frowns and studies the dirt upon which he sits.

"I don't think I can answer that," he admits.

"And why's that?"

"It's…just too personal, so please don't push it." I snort.

"Then what the hell do you call what you just told me?" Tony's frown deepens, and I think I see signs of a lie. "Was any of it true?"

"Of course it was!" he cries, angered. "I don't just go spilling my life story to anyone for any reason!"

"Then why can't you answer my question?"

"Because…I just can't!" My sleeping temper awakens again as dark, treacherous thoughts swirl within me. I can't handle a betrayal.

"Tell me the truth, Tony. That's all I want."

"I have told you the truth, and I mean what I say when I say this is too PERSONAL! I may be a screw-up, but at least I never killed anyone. I don't need to tell a monster _anything_!"

A strange, lethal silence replaces the peaceful one from before.

Tony's eyes widen as he clamps his skinny hand over his mouth, and I chuckle darkly. Sorry, kid. You just went one step too far.

"So I'm the monster now, huh?"

"Bruce, I-I-I-I didn't mean for it to come out that way!"

"Of course you didn't. Now get out." Tony flinches at the lowness of my tone, and I think that I'm getting good at scaring him.

"But, Bruce-."

"Get. Out. Before I'm able to finish the job on your neck." He gulps as his hand flies to his throat. That's right. Be afraid.

Because the monster in me has come out to play.

I turn away from Tony and the outside world, fully expecting him to obey my quiet words. Which he eventually does. But when he leaves, I don't hear the door screech open and then close. I only hear the blood pounding in my ears.

So much for hope.

**Well, what do you guys think? This is my first time attempting this kind of an exchange, and I would really appreciate the feedback. **


	9. Chapter 9: Green Mile

**Well, everyone, this is it. The final chapter of The Penny Loafers. Thanks for sticking around, and special thanks to jack2724 for leaving me several reviews! **

**Disclaimer: You know it. I know it. Lawyers know it. I own nothing. **

Chapter 9: Green Mile

Blood, thick and sticky, trails down the length of my arm like molasses, staining it crimson. It's unbearably hot against my freezing skin. I hate this sensation, but I can't find the strength to brush it away.

I can only stare blankly at the limp for cradled in my arms.

"Wake up," I whisper. The sound emerges as an unintelligible, hoarse cry, and my vision swims. Another burning sensation. This time the liquid fire rolls down my mismatched cheeks.

I raise a shaky hand to my face and then bring it before my eyes as if studying an interesting specimen. A tear. That is why my mind registers it as, but my heart is dead to the emotions that it should signify.

Grief. Sorrow. Anguish.

I feel none of that. I have become an emotional vacuum, and my mind is numb to the fact. Yet somehow without emotion my torment increases tenfold. I know I should feel something.

Regret, remorse, frustration, anger, _something_.

But it's all gone.

I can't believe that I'm still alive despite what the continuous heaving of my chests says. I bow my head over the frail body as my brain sluggishly bombards me with memories of moments to hours ago. But I am not connected to them.

I am floating above my own mind and body and looking through the haze with faint interest. There I am in my shack. A massive monster of person wounded by one boy's words.

How the mighty have fallen. Beyond all human hurt, beyond all death, beyond all redemption, so we rest in our own ocean of torment.

Cheesy poetry. I really have lost my grip on sanity and reality.

I continue to watch as the monster slowly stumbles into the open street without any sense of direction. The few present flee the moment it collapses onto its knees. I can't see their faces (perhaps they don't have any), but I know their panic. It is the same as always.

For what seems like hours, I am suspended in that one scene, doomed to have its weakness ingrained into my memory. Weak. Pathetic. Useless. Those words contribute to my detachment as the monster below my feet struggles to rise. Please, someone, shoot it out of its misery. It would be mercy.

Yet the cruelty of it all continues as I watch it lumber towards Alfred's stand. The trader, or maybe it should be traitor now, has recovered from the last encounter. My hands clamp over my ears as the beast unleashes an anguished roar. It still rings within me.

Even through the pesky, perturbing noise, I remember the exchange. Alfred draws his gun. The monster knocks it from his grip. It roars again while he demands to know what its problem is. He also wants to know what it did to Tony. He tells the monster that the kid ran by his stand a while ago with a funny expression. It demands to know which way he went.

Alfred refuses to speak.

It breaks his jaw.

After that, a bit of me emerges and coolly reminds him of his role in this whole mess. I know the human-monster's words cut deeply when he bows his coned head. He points in the right direction.

That is the last time the human-monster will ever see the traitor.

I see it in the hybrid's eyes through the haze, and I can't help but to agree with his resolve. Alfred crossed the line. There's no turning back and no redemption in enterprise.

I float after the bizarre creature as it walks Tony's path. For a while, I reconnect with it as it joins the fading ghost of the kid. We three tread slowly, carefully.

The harsh sun illuminates the road, washing it in sterile light. Every structure looms around us, casting weird shadows onto our path. Every detail is sharpened to tortured clarity. Everything is all so vivid and so _beautiful_, though it lingers in ruin.

Realization jolts me and the human from numbness. The last bit of monster gives in to the essence of human as Memory Me and I overwhelm it. We burst into a mad sprint, eyes wild, heart pounding within our joined chest. 'Please, please, _please_ be all right,' we plead within our minds. 'Give me time, kid!'

Realization jolts me again. It stuns me in to another emotional vacuum as I remember that I only walk my memories. I split from Memory Me as he races ahead. That poor fool. He still thinks that he has the power to save someone.

I shake my head and wonder when this path will end. I know what happens. I don't need to relive every single moment.

In a half-hearted attempt to break into reality, I squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten. Thoughts of blood pooling in my palms invade my concentration. Deep breaths. A head of dark hair.

When my lids shoot open, nothing has changed except that my breathing is labored. Anger. So much anger. So much raw pain.

Resigned to the fact that I'm forced to play these memories, I jog the darkening road. It's cold around me, but I'm ablaze, sparking, glowing. My skin's aglow. 'Just like Tony's stars,' I think with a bitter grin.

I feel my grip slipping. My sanity's green mile welcomes me, and I embrace it. This world holds no love for me and I for it, so why bother to absorb it with a clear mind? The ringing in my ears dies. It is replaced by the sound of a liquid lapping against some distant shore and then by the pealing of a single bell.

Another tear slips from my eye.

The world turns to dark, yet I still burn, consumed by the fiery pain swirling in my chest. I alone light my path. I alone am forced to face what I cannot change. And there it is.

A previously abandoned warehouse whirring with life and movement and sending billows of smoke into the air. A lanky body lying motionless before it. A pool of blood encircling its head. A cadence of voices falling and rising and echoing and blurring until all reason flees.

The memory human is immobile, too. That is, until the monster claws its way into control once more. A rush of color and sensation flows past me, and I glimpse orange flames licking the sky, mixing with thick black smoke. A cadence of cries assaults me ears. I revel in it.

I see that the monster feels the same.

But then it glimpses the still form, and the human emerges again. Am I doomed to only have pity for him? He falls to his knees beside the body, running his hand through the mess of hair as if he can't believe that it's real. What I would give for this to only be a dream.

Yet real it remains. I'm tired of this memory, and I bite my lip until I taste salty blood, praying that it will return me to the actual city. At least there I have some semblance of control. It is enough.

When I finally awake in reality, it is not my pain that has accomplished the feat. It is a simple touch.

I barely notice it for its lightness, but I jerk when it is registered. The haze is disrupted so that for a moment I am left dazed and with a major headache. Then I look down.

A familiar cocky grin meets my gaze, though I notice the weariness lining it. "Hey, Brucy," whispers Tony.

"Take it easy, kid. We're going to make sure you come out of this alive," I try to tell him, but he only smiles. Actually, it comes out like a grimace.

"It's too late for me. The best I can do is make recompense for all the shit I've pulled over the years." His eyes flicker from me, and I see his distance. Then they roll back. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what I said, Bruce."

"Kid, I know you didn't mean it." He shrugs.

"I still should've kept my stupid mouth shut. At least it's the last time it'll get me in trouble."

"Don't talk as if you're going to die because you're not." The words slip off my tongue harsher than I intended, but I see that Tony doesn't take offense. Instead he smiles again. It is both pitying and knowing, and I can't stand it. I have to change the subject. "Why did you go back in there?"

"What do you think?" His quirked eyebrow irritates me, and I frown.

"Hell, I have no clue, Tony; I could believe almost anything at this point. Maybe you went back for more of your poison. Maybe you wanted to throw your life away. Maybe you just wanted to get back at me. What do I know?"

"More than you realize." Tony struggles to sit up even though I protest. That is when I catch sight of the box nestled between his back and his arm. "Take it. It's for you."

Casting him a curious, worried glance, I gently remove the box from his side as he collapses onto the ground again with a soft gasp. Though I want to help him, he waves my attempts aside. "Open it."

I obey his instruction again. The tape is relatively easy for my fingers to peel away, and soon the flaps are just waiting to be opened. I hesitate until Tony's impatience almost makes him flail his arms. With painstaking care, I fold the cardboard to its side and lift the contents from the box, packing peanuts spilling onto the ground.

Despite Tony's eagerness, I am confused. I turn the contents in my hands. Why does he want me to have a pair of…shoes? "Tony, what is this?"

"A pair of penny loafers," he chirps. "I stole it from the gang that supplies my alcohol." Flabbergasted, I stare down at the wounded boy, and he holds up his hands in defense. "They had it coming."

"Tony," I begin and then pinch the bridge of my nose as I feel another headache straining against my skull. "Tony, you don't just _steal_ from a gang. Especially one as powerful as that."

"Well, _technically_, I didn't steal it," he whispers, twiddling his thumbs. "I did leave payment."

"And what was your form payment?" I ask sardonically.

"Your pennies." My irritation dies in an instant, and now I'm sure that I feel weaker than he.

"You mean…?"

"Yes, Brucy, the ones that I didn't use to buy alcohol." Despite his wry affection, self-loathing and disgust washes over me.

"Damn, Tony, I-."

"Don't worry about it," he whispers, cutting me off. "Your reaction was expected." He winces, bringing my attention back to his wounds.

"Did they catch you?" I ask quietly.

"Yep. Clipped my head and got me between the shoulder blades." A genuine, yet sorrowful, laugh escapes him as he twists his neck to glance at the burning warehouse. "I should've seen it coming. Nothing good ever comes out of this city. Well, except maybe you, Bruce."

"Tony, you know as well as I do that I'm far from good," I say, shaking my head.

"You're the best that this city has got. At least you managed to destroy the monster that I created." Tony shudders. "I can't imagine what would have happened if they had fully realized their goals. Doubt it would be pretty. I will forever be grateful to you for sparing me that future."

"But look where this has gotten you!" Tony shrugs as his eyes grow distant again.

"I've been a dead man walking for the last few years. It was only matter of time before something or someone put me in a proper grave." A harsh cough racks his body, and I comprehend just how frail he is in this moment. I wish I didn't.

"Stay with me, Tony. You have to at least see me try on these loafers." My voice cracks as tears threaten to spill again.

"Then put them on, Brucy. I'm here now." I manage a short bark of laughter than sounds more like a suppressed sob, and I ease Tony onto the ground. Then I undo the laces of the right shoe. "You can walk your own green mile in these things!"

My fingers quiver as I fight the obnoxious knots, but I'm relieved to hear a quiet chuckle from my side. Until it turns to coughing. I'm tempted to drop the shoes right there and grab the kid to find him some help.

I don't because I know he wouldn't like it.

I hurry to tug the expensive shoe onto my foot, brows furrowing with concentration. I keep quiet so as to monitor Tony's condition the best that I can, given my limited options. But then I hear the thing I dread the most.

Silence.

No raspy breathing, no hoarse mirth, no teasing, no sly comments, nothing. Only silence.

I turn my head little by little, breath hitching in my throat. My mind anticipates what my eyes will reveal, but the pain throbbing in my chest refuses to believe it. As my eyes slide to the kid, I fight the urge to just shut them and run away. No more running. I refuse to abandon him; he's had enough of that to last him a lifetime. I risk only a peak at first.

Looks like he's finished this one.

Just to be certain, I force my feet into motion so that I shuffle to his still side. My hand reaches for his neck. It goes limp when my worst fears are confirmed.

Overwhelmed by the sudden need to think of anything else than the truth that lies before me, I glance at my feet. And the shoe hanging off my right. Mournfully, I realize that Tony never got to see me put on his loafers. They are three sizes too small, too.

"One last laugh for your green mile," I whisper, raising my eyes to the sky. The smoke still curls upwards.

**Hmm, perhaps I should include an epilogue. Anyways, questions, comments, concerns, praises, insults, and the like are all appreciated!**


	10. Epilogue: Tragedian

**I wish I could say 'Yay for epilogues!', but I don't think that would be appropriate considering the mood. Anyways, here's to jack2724 and reckless is a wreck! Thanks for being my outside motivation! Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: We all know it by now.**

Epilogue: Tragedian

I sigh as a warm breath of air tousles my thick hair. Small comfort, but it's enough. It reminds me that I'm still alive.

So does the mound of earth sitting at my feet.

For a while, I do nothing but relish the warmth of life all around me. The grass sways with the breezes, mimicking my hair's movements, and it brings a sorrowing smile to my face. I figured that you would like to be buried out in the country. That way you don't have to be surrounded by all those damn memories of death, blood, and hopelessness. All those wasted years.

It's been three months, kid. Three months since those bastards shot the life from you. I'm still bitter at the city. I blame it and its poison for bleeding the humanity from that gang. And for driving you to the brink of madness.

It was madness, wasn't it? Why else would you have gone to them, knowing that there was no way you could come out alive? Or maybe you held onto some slim hope that your life would have been spared. But that doesn't sound like you. You had some uncanny knack for knowing what was to come, so you had to have gone to your death willingly.

Madness either way I look at it.

I thought I knew you, kid, but guess I didn't. You were so erratic. Never predictable, always keeping me on my toes, always stimulating my mind. That's probably why I liked you. But now, more so than ever, I want to hate you for what you did. You really did leave me with a whole mess of confusion.

But for me to hate you, that means I would have to hate myself. Because you did it for me.

At least, I think you did. That's what those damn penny loafers are for, right?

I sigh again, running a hand through my hair. Christ, Tony, it really looks like I had no idea who the hell you were or are. Bet you're getting a kick out of that down there. Though, from what I think I know of you, you probably managed to pull some strings to get you up there. Wouldn't surprise me.

My toe scuffs the ground as I raise my eyes heavenward. Haven't we seen this same scene somewhere before? When you died? The sky wasn't as beautiful then as it is now. Hope the stars find you tonight. I won't be sticking around to await their magical appearance.

Not like you should expect as much. There's nothing left for me in this wretched hellhole. Alfred's long gone. Doubt I'll ever see him again. I'm sure that if I did, I would have to break his jaw again before he could whip out his gun. Yep, I'm bitter at him, too. Maybe that will change when I finally get the poison out of my system.

I want to move on, kid.

Jarvis and Pepper found me a few days after your death. Turns out they had been worried about you for a long time and figured that you were responsible for getting the old factory running again. But they thought you were doing well. You didn't need them around to interfere with your plans. But then when I burned the factory down, they decided that they couldn't stay away without hearing at least a little bit of news. I could only offer them your corpse.

Do you regret it yet? Do my words bite at you the same way your lousy memory bites at me? Good. You deserve to feel some of our pain.

I smile bitterly as I shake more poison from my veins. I know that's not fair, kid. You felt enough pain for one lifetime. I don't want to wish anymore on you; I only wish that you had thought a little harder on your actions.

I'm not angry at you. Really, I'm not.

I'm just so tired of living this life. What is it even worth anymore? Maybe if you were here you could find some words to give me the strength to remain, but you aren't. Pitiful, isn't it?

The city has gone mad in the absence of the most powerful gang. Now the others fight to be at the top. It's disgusting how savagely they work each day to gain control of the city and its damned souls. Don't they know that it's temporary at best?

All the streets have been washed in blood. Blood like yours.

Somewhere within me, a stirring of pity for those that curse me arises. What fools we all have been. What a fool you have been, Tony.

"'Cause don't you know, kid?" I ask, voicing my thoughts for the first time. "Life's a fucking tragedy. And we all just actors. So here's to your final curtain call, you lucky bastard." I raise my hand in mock toast and salute, and maybe I feel some spirits working within me so that I finally see the reason. Maybe I see reality once for all that it is. And maybe I don't.

Smirking, I bend down to place a bag of coins onto the mound. For old times' sake. We sure had a lot of those, though I doubt I'll remember them. Like I said, life's a tragedy. Memories come and go just like people, and I have no control over it. Not that I want any.

Kid, your father may have built this city, but you sure as hell destroyed it. If only you could see it now. Everyday another war ends and another begins. More lives lost, increasing the grief. The city's got a ledger now, crimson and gory. And that's what we will be remembered by. How tragic.

Jarvis and Pepper have already left the city. I got them out a week before all this violence fully came to head. Thought you might appreciate that. They're waiting for me in another city quite a ways from here. We're going to try to find a life worth living. Hopefully we'll succeed.

You definitely picked a real girl when you chose Pepper, by the way. She's a true spitfire, so maybe we won't have so much trouble. But you will when her time comes. Ha, I would pay good money to see that. Temperamental Tony whipped by the Fearsome Pepper. Would be quite the match.

Now stop sulking, Tony. You know that you need a good challenge every now and then. I'll make sure to take care of her so that you will eventually get it. Promise.

I hope that promise is enough for you because I've said and done all that I can to make my peace. Time for me to be moving on. See you around, kid. And thanks for giving me the opportunity to get the hell out of here.

I end my silent monologue with his grave as I grasp the penny loafers firmly in my hand. They're the only things I will keep. Tony should feel special.

In the distance gunshots ring out, just like the ones that killed my friend. Bang. Bang. Bang. I do nothing to stop the sounds from invading my senses, and they flood me with a whole new mess of emotions and memories. But I don't look back.

**And…now I'm done! Huh, I'm going to miss writing this story. Maybe I'll come back to it in a few years and fix the errors that I'm sure exist. Until then…well….who knows? As a side note, I would recommend listening to History by Funeral for a Friend while reading this. I think it fits. **


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